Ammumma, never left her bed for nothing. Chandu always wished he could invite ammumma onto his favourite guava tree, which he climbed every day. He never knew why he climbed them, all he knew was that he found a second happiness to ammumma’s stories whilst he was on the tree top. But he was sad when he blew his imagination to settle down, cuddling around ammumma. He was sad as he could not take her to the garden and his tree. All he knew was ammumma could not do the basic chores by herself. She always needed a helping hand. And he always raised his for her.
The mornings he woke up early, brushed his teeth, and diligently ran to ammumma’s room, waited for his mum to go to kitchen. The moment his mum stepped into the kitchen (his untold duty as accepted by his family) he set out stool, a basin, a large mug of water, brush and paste for his ammumma. And once she finished he would clear it up for her. I still cant decipher, if Chandu had in him a selfish desire to hear ammumma’s story that prompted him to do these chores voluntarily. But nonetheless, his was such an age, which lacked the maturity of such an act.
Chandu’s eyes always gleamed like an aquarium, when it was his favourite story time. He was always waiting for that time when he dint have to do anything but cuddle around ammumma and hold her palm. He never knew why he held her palm. She never told him scary stories. She always told him stories of a parrot who, flew miles across oceans and continents, and always came visiting him with bucket full of goodies. His eyes dilated as he tried to visualise these big events of ammumma”s creative characters came alive in his mind. This made him hold her palm closer as he enjoyed those faint words of ammumma as he synced into the story.
He always wondered how ammumma could tell him stories, every time he went to her for them. She was indeed an never-ending story teller. Sometimes Chandu, was left behind home with his little sister, when his mum and dad went out. Their sole guardian was his ammumma. Ammumma always took care of Chandu and his little sister.
I am amazed of ammumma’s courage to take care of small children. The fact that she was immobile, and showed courage, proved who she is. So at times when mum and dad were not home, with ammumma in charge of children, Chandu found interest in her utility articles to make up his dream games. He always sat down at ammumma’s foot and rested her feet on his lap, whilst he used her leg rest stool as his work desk of his imaginary office game. His priced possession was ammumma’s wheelchair, which he pretended it to be his Police Jeep on which he went for his call of duty.
When I think of these, I rejoice those days of childhood. It took me a great effort to put it up together in memory of ammumma. She passed away even before I realised. Today, I cant read my stories, bring my characters alive, to ammumma. Till this day I hold a priced possession, which belongs to ammumma, her cot. To this day, when I just lay down on the bed, I fall asleep quickly and have a fulfilling sleep. May be its ammumma making sure that Chandu sleeps well when in her cot.